In the Night Read Free Page B

moment.
    “I beg your pardon, my lady, but the man is here with the flowers you ordered. There seems to be some sort of problem with the order.”
    This was obviously not what Octavia wanted to hear. Casting an apologetic glance at Moira, she begged to be excused. “I shall just be a moment, I promise.”
    “Take your time. I will try not to puncture my thumb again in your absence.”
    Her friend smiled and left the room. Unless the flowers were completely dastardly, Moira was fairly certain no one would give them much notice, so whatever mistake the flower man made, it was nothing to fret over. Still, Octavia had yet to return by the time Moira finished decorating the last window.
    What to do now? She could go find Octavia, but she had no desire to get involved in the floral dilemma. The only thing left to do was hang the mistletoe in the doorways and in various locations throughout the room.
    Moira took the ladder Octavia’s massive butler, Johnson, had brought in earlier and began tacking the sprigs of mistletoe up around the room. There would be no shortage of kissing going on that evening. Of course, it would all be entirely proper and in the spirit of the season. Many an eligible bachelor would steer Minnie beneath these boughs—in front of Moira’s ever-watchful eyes, of course.
    Climbing the ladder to hang the last sprig, Moira stretched to tack it into place. She had misjudged when placing the ladder against the wall, having to position it to maneuver around a painting.
    She pushed up onto her toes, straining to her right. Just a little farther… Oh oh.
    The ladder tipped, wobbling backward as Moira’s arms windmilled. Desperately she struggled to regain balance, but it was no use. The ladder fell, flinging her toward the floor.
    But instead of landing on the hard slats, Moira landed against something almost as solid. A band of unyielding strength closed around her, flattening her breasts to her chest, pinning her to a wall of warm, spicy-scented man. She didn’t have to see him to know who he was. Her luck was so rotten, there was only one man it could be.
    “Steady,” he murmured as her shaking knees threatened to buckle beneath her.
    As though near-injury wasn’t enough to send her heart into a frantic pounding, his voice added to the chaotic rhythm. Stiffening, she turned, even as common sense ordered her to run as far away as she could.
    He didn’t release her as any decent gentleman would have. He just stood there, holding her in an entirely improper manner, waiting for her to look up and meet his indescribable gaze. Well, she wouldn’t do it. She refused to let him bait her. She would demand that he let her go.
    Her resolve lasted all of three seconds. Bold blue eyes stared at her from beneath gently arched brows. His lashes were long and tilted upward at the ends. It seemed everything about him was almost perfectly straight but not quite—even his nose. Such imperfections could have harmed a less impressive face, but not his. Sweet mercy, but he was one splendid-looking man. No doubt he knew it. Beautiful men usually knew they were beautiful.
    Of course, in her experience, beautiful men often preferred the company of other beautiful men, and she knew that wasn’t true in the case of Wynthrope Ryland. He certainly seemed to have enjoyed his share of women.
    Strange, but she had the feeling he hadn’t necessarily liked them. For that matter, she wasn’t all that certain he liked himself that much either, even though he gave all the appearance of just the opposite.
    His dark hair was slightly mussed, his cheeks rosy from the cold. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, crinkling at the corners as a slight dimple appeared in his cheek. Was he laughing at her? Could he feel her heart pounding through the thin material of her gown? And why couldn’t she be wearing something pretty instead of a plain blue morning dress? She must look a fright.
    So why was he looking at her as though he liked what he